Pest Control
by rizlow
Summary: One shot, Dean/reader - You think you've got mice, but the exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester… No worries, he takes care of things quite nicely…


The first thing you notice when you meet him is the beautiful green of his eyes. A soft green, shot through with gold - in the sunlight his eyes look like they are lit from within, surrounded and shaded by long, thick lashes, dark blonde like his hair. Eyes that are clear and candid, not bothering to disguise their appraisal of you, from the slight narrowing as their gaze lingers on your lips, to the subtle darkening as they sweep over your body and back up to your face.

And then he smiles, and the earth stops spinning, almost throwing you off balance. Crinkles form at the corners of those stunning eyes, their sparkling galaxies focused entirely on you. Those full, perfectly-shaped lips with the tiny upturn in the corners curve slowly, one side a shade higher than the other, and you see his tongue pressed up right behind those slightly-parted, perfect white teeth.

He lifts his chin a little as that smile broadens. "Hey," he says in a voice that seems to resonate right from his chest. "I'm Dean."

You swallow hard, and your voice is a little strained as you answer. "You're the pest control guy?"

His face changes slightly, he looks a little more professional now, a little less flirty. "That's me." You're having a hard time not staring at the sun playing over the random pattern of pale freckles on his skin, but then he pulls a pair of gloves from his back pocket and smiles once again, politely. "Want me to have a look around?"

You blink quickly a couple of times, trying to snap yourself out of the daze you've been in since you opened the door to find him standing there. "Yes, of course, come in. Would you like some lemonade or something?" You back up to let him enter, trying not to stare at the way his jeans fit so well around his bowed legs, the thighs lean but muscular, and you force yourself to look away.

"Maybe after I check things out. You have an attic?"

You direct him to the stairs and allow yourself to peek at the rear view, feeling yourself blush at the perfect shape of his ass as he ascends. You have never ogled someone like this, and you feel almost feverish. The magnetism this man possesses is incredible, and you wonder briefly how it would be if he were really trying to impress you. You blow out a breath, trying to regain your equilibrium, and turn back to the task you had been about to begin - the leak under the kitchen sink.

You cringe as you walk into the kitchen, realizing just now how you must have looked when you answered the door - hair up in a messy bundle at your nape, held with an old scrunchy, ratty old t-shirt that should be in the rags, cut-offs that have definitely seen their better days, no make-up. You sigh, laughing internally at yourself - like he'd be interested anyway. You grab your wrench and bucket, and go to your knees in front of the sink to tackle the issue at hand.

You are on your back on the floor, halfway under the sink when you hear footsteps enter the kitchen and stop nearby. "Having some trouble?" he asks, and you glance up. From your vantage point you can only see him from about the waist down, his fingers shoved into his pockets, and you let yourself admire the territory for a second, before responding.

"Yeah, leaky pipe. The joys of owning a house." You scoot out from under the cabinet, pulling your t-shirt down where it had ridden up, and as you glance up, his eyes are briefly on the exposed skin before he reaches down to offer assistance. You meet his eyes as you take his large hand, and the easy strength in his fingers, slightly rough and calloused from hard work, sends color into your face as you wonder how they would feel if they touched you more intimately. Your hand is in his just a little longer than necessary, and then he drops it and gestures towards the sink.

"You want me to have a look?"

"Oh, I don't want to…" you begin to stammer out, but he shakes his head, already lowering himself to the floor.

"I don't mind. So what's going on down here?"

He had no problem getting the stubborn fitting that you had been fighting with loose, and within fifteen minutes, the leak was fixed and the pipes back in place. You chatted with him as he worked, admiring the view, blushing profusely as he moved just right, one leg propped up, the denim just loose enough to drape over what looked like a very impressive length in his boxers, and suddenly the heat in the room seemed oppressive. "So, now do you want some lemonade?" you blurted, moving away to the refrigerator, embarrassed at your thoughts.

"You don't have a beer in there, do you? This was my last stop, and I'd love a cold one," he asks hopefully as he rises effortlessly from the floor.

"Actually, I do. It's kind of a weakness in the summer, sitting out on the deck with an ice cold beer," you answer, smiling, and you hand him one, pulling another out for yourself. He grins in reply, popping the lid off with the silver ring on his hand, tossing it to the trash. You catch yourself staring as he raises the bottle to his lips, his tongue touching the rim as he tips it, and you watch his throat as he swallows before opening yours and following suit, feeling suddenly very thirsty. "Come on out, you can fill me in on my termites or mice - or whatever you found in your inspection," you say, walking past him to the sliding patio doors.

You both sit on the patio, late afternoon sun hot on your face, and you listen to his voice, watch his lips as he explains about some kind of infestation in the walls, that his company will put you up in a hotel for the night so they can fumigate and then you realize that he's staring at you, waiting for an answer. You hesitantly agree, hoping he didn't double the charges for the work they were doing or something, because you honestly don't have a clue exactly what he said.

You check in at the old motel later that evening, a little skeptical, but the bed seems soft and the room is actually kind of charming, right down to an overstuffed reading chair and ottoman in the corner. You take your hair, still damp from the shower you had taken at home before leaving, out of the loose braid, running your fingers through the loose waves, fold down the bedding in preparation for later, and settle into the chair with your book.

A quiet knock on the door startles you back to reality, and you're surprised as you glance at the clock that it's almost ten. You glance through the peephole to see Dean standing there, arms behind his back, waiting, and you close your eyes for a moment, wishing you had worn something a little less comfortable than the tank top and shorts you had thrown on. You open the door, and that heart-stopping smile lights up his face as he pulls a six-pack from behind his back. "Problem solved. Thought you might want to celebrate," he says, that whiskey and honey voice of his sending a little zing up your spine.

You smile back, stepping back to let him enter. "Does that mean no more scratching inside the walls, no more bumps in the night?" you ask as you take the beer from his hand.

"Should be taken care of, but if you have any problems, call the number on that card I gave you." You nod in answer, sitting on the edge of the bed as you take a drink. "By the way, I'll have to stop by tomorrow - we broke a couple of holes in the walls of the attic, I'll repair those before I leave. If that's okay," he says, one eyebrow cocked in question, and you determinedly push down the little surge that goes through you at knowing you'll see him again.

"Oh, yeah, of course," you answer. He talks about finding mice in your walls, you chat about the book you're reading, and soon the beer is gone and he's standing, almost reluctantly, getting ready to leave. You stand up to walk him to the door, wishing you had the nerve to just be bold for once and ask him to stay. You smile, moving to walk past him, and he puts a hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Y/N, I don't mean to be…" He stops for a moment, then looks you in the eye, his tongue briefly playing across his lips. "I'd love to kiss you."

Your breath freezes in your lungs, and you stare, lips parted, into those mesmerizing green eyes as he reaches over and brushes a thumb across your lips, then cradles your face in his palm as he leans towards you. You close the short distance between you and feel him exhale in relief as he nibbles softly at your bottom lip before his arms surround you, and he kisses you. He's gentle at first, his tongue tentatively probing, but as you respond he groans softly and one hand moves to your hip, pulling you against him, and you feel a rush of heat at his arousal. Your arms are around his neck, your fingers in his hair, and you feel a little dizzy as your heart pounds in your chest, unable to believe that he feels this attraction as strongly as you do.

"I've been thinking about this all day, wondering if you'd throw me out if I kissed you," he says, still pressing himself up against you, and you press even closer, watching his eyes close for a moment in pleasure at the friction.

"I've been thinking about it ever since I opened my door," you whisper, standing on tiptoe to kiss him again, and his fingers tangle in your hair as you strain against each other, unable to get close enough to satisfy your desperate need.

He pulls back for a moment, frustration on his face. "Shit. I don't have a condom." But you kiss him again, and he lets out little, desperate sound that shoots straight to your core.

"It's okay. Birth control. And I'm clean. Are you?" He nods, and you lean in to nip at his bottom lip, loving the predatory look that gleams in his eyes.

He guides you slowly backward, until finally the backs of your knees are against the bed, and he pulls back slowly, gently sucking on your bottom lip before releasing you. Before you can move any further onto the bed, he reaches for the hem of your shirt, staring into your eyes as he pulls it up, and you lift your arms to accommodate him. You wish fervently that you had put on something more than your everyday cotton bra and panties, but he doesn't seem to notice or care as his eyes devour you, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. He reaches down to slowly sweep his fingertips over the swell of your breasts before pulling his own shirts off, hastily discarding them over his shoulder as he advances, following you as you scoot your body up onto the bed.

He hovers over you, taking your lips captive again, and you let your hands travel down the cords of his neck, over the broad shoulders, exploring the swell of muscles in his biceps. The pure strength and power in his body leaves you weak, and as his hand drifts down to cup your breast, you gasp softly, arching up into his touch. His lips leave yours, moving over your jaw, nibbling at your throat as you let your head drop back onto the pillow, feeling as if you were simultaneously shivering and on fire.

He slips a hand beneath your back and unfastens the clasp of your bra, and then somehow it's just gone, and his tongue is circling your nipple as you whimper helplessly. The ache between your thighs is almost unbearable, and when he brings his thigh up close, you find yourself unable to resist grinding against him, and a moan escapes his lips. He sucks each nipple into his mouth, leaving them each with a gentle nip before he begins kissing his way down your body, his fingers busily undoing your shorts and working them down over your hips. As he slips them off over your feet, he stares down at you, a hunger in his eyes that leaves you breathless, and he drags a finger gently over you, his eyes closing as he raises it to his lips.

"God," you groan softly, and he smiles as if it's the best thing he's ever tasted, then settles himself between your thighs, licking a long, slow stripe over you before swirling his tongue around your clit, and you bite your lip almost hard enough to draw blood, trying to keep from crying out. You feel one long finger, then two as he slips them into your core, curling them slightly to search for the spot that makes you see stars, and he holds you down with his other hand to prevent you bucking up into him. He finds that spot and just rubs against it, and then he sucks hard around your clit, and you lose yourself completely, no inhibitions left as you scream and moan his name, shaking and clenching and spasming around his fingers. He moves his hand and brings his head down, his tongue darting into you forcefully as you flood over him with your release.

He's gently kissing the inside of your thigh as you come back to yourself, and you feel a little pinch as he marks you there, raising his head with a smile. "So you don't forget about me," he says, and then he stands and quickly sheds his remaining clothing, his eyes never leaving you. He crawls up, and you can feel the head of his cock pressing gently against you as he kisses you. You reach down between you to touch him - he's smooth and hot, and his size is a little intimidating, but you can't wait for him to be inside you, and you give him a little tug, causing him to chuckle softly. He reaches down, stroking over you with his fingers, then coating himself with your slick before gently pressing forward. He takes his time, slowly stroking forward a little farther each time, until you think you'll lose your mind. When he's finally fully seated, your legs around his waist and your breathing ragged, he stills for a moment, looking down at you. Those eyes, you swear sometimes they glow, and he strokes his fingers over your face, bending to kiss you, his lips clinging to yours. "You okay?" he whispers, and you nod, then shift a little, and he bites at his lip before drawing back, then gliding easily back in to fill you again.

He moves slowly at first, a couple of gentle strokes to make sure you're comfortable, and then he begins a slow, steady rhythm, rocking into you, his tongue tangling sweetly with yours as he moans into your kiss. You meet each thrust, the two of you moving as one, and you feel yourself climbing once again, exquisite tension building as you swear he's stroking over every nerve in your body that brings you pleasure. He moves one hand down and slips it beneath you, against the small of your back, angling you a little higher as he gyrates his hips slightly, and you abandon yourself to the sensations flooding through you, moaning his name, your nails digging into the back of his shoulder. He moves his hand back around between you, pressing against that throbbing little bundle of nerves as he thrusts hard into you, and you come again, your walls gripping his rigid length, and you catch a glimpse of him throwing his head back, his teeth clenched as he fights the urge to join you.

He slows his strokes again, gentling you through, his lips caressing your neck, murmuring into your ear how perfect it was, how he wants to do this all night long, to stay inside you and watch you fall apart beneath him over and over again. His voice in your ear sends shivers down your spine as he lifts you up against his chest, moving to his knees, and you whimper softly, long and low, as this new position fills you to your limit. "Easy, sweetheart," he whispers in your ear, then rotates his hips a little and you cry out, clinging bonelessly to him, your breasts crushed against his chest as you hold on for dear life.

You begin to nip and suck at his neck, and a low groan emanates from his throat as the motion of his hips becomes more deliberate, more forceful. You put your hands on his shoulders, bracing yourself as he begins to drive up into you, his hands moving to grip your hips tight and slam you against him with each violent thrust. The friction against you sends you over the edge again, and you sob out his name as he lets loose with a feral growl, holding you tight against him as he throbs inside you, your core pulsing around him until he has nothing left.

You hold each other tight, sweat-slicked skin flushed hot, and you let out a long shudder as he moves to lay you down, pulling himself from you to roll to his back. He draws you close, his hands still caressing you, moving gently over your back, as he puts a hand behind your knee and drapes your leg over his.

He kisses your hair, your forehead, leaning up to fumble for the edge of the covers and pulling them over you both. You sigh, contented and pleasantly exhausted, settling happily onto his shoulder. "Mind if I stay?" he whispers, and you give him a little squeeze.

"As long as you want," you mumble, and drift off to sleep, cradled in his strong arms, wishing that it could be forever.


End file.
